


Yarnworld

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Knitting, Post-Canon, Trick or Treat 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros awakens after death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yarnworld

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uumuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/gifts).



"At last." The voice above him was calm and sweet, with something vaguely familiar in it. Maedhros found himself stretching out his arms, feeling very strange. He clenched his hands, and then started in surprise. He could feel both hands again. 

His eyes flew open and he looked up, straight into the face of what appeared to be someone much larger than himself. Her face, pale and bright with flowing silver hair, filled all the sky above him. But her eyes were kind and she gave him a wide smile, clearly pleased to see him awake. 

"Shh, don't move. Not yet, my little one. Not yet." Indeed all his limbs seemed to be somewhat limp and watery, as if he had forgotten how to move more than a few inches, so he lay still obediently. "I'm very happy to see you." 

Her finger, large as well, came up, and she stroked gently down his shoulder and chest. The sensation was odd but very pleasurable, and he followed the line of her finger to look at his body. He seemed to be covered in a strange substance, and wriggled a little to try and make sense of it. 

Everything moved with him. He was - he felt - he couldn't quite articulate it to himself. It was as though cotton had filled his ears and his mind, and he was thinking from very far away. 

"Just one more," she said above him. Her fingers moved steadily on something near his head, and he turned a little to try and understand what she was doing. "Just Makalaurë now." 

It wasn't until he turned his head that he understood. For there beside him Maglor rested - and it was, and it wasn't Maglor. It was a knitted doll made to look like him, eyes blank, the body limp. 

Breathless with shock, Maedhros brought one of his own hands up to look at - the right one, the restored one. It was knitted, like Maglor, and suddenly, he was moving his body, sitting up bonelessly, feeling himself frantically. 

"Don't, don't, little one," the silver-haired woman said. "Did I not say to stay still for now?"

"What am I?" Maedhros said, and the voice that came from his throat was a susurration, a rasp, the words only barely understandable. 

"I saved you, grandson," the woman said. "I made you a new body to live in, to keep you warm and whole by my side." She threw her head up, passionate devotion shining in her eyes. "Never again will you suffer fear, want, or loss. I will reunite you all - see, I have saved them too." She gestured down the table where Maedhros was sitting, and at the end of it, there was a house. A knitted face peered out, and then a knitted Fëanor opened the door, and came forth. 

"Nelyo," Fëanor said, and his eyes were very bright and alive. His body, though made of yarn, seemed to be entirely under his control. He knelt at Maedhros' side and gathered him into his arms. "Welcome home."


End file.
